Seasons of Life
Lucius Quinctius Cincinnatus was a farmer.
At least, that’s what he wanted to be.
But before he turned to the soil of the simple farmer life, he had lived different life.
Born into Rome's patrician class around 519 BC, Cincinnatus had served his Republic as both a soldier and a statesman.
He was elected consul in 460 BC, one of the highest offices in Roman government.
But his personal life was marked by hardship—his son, Caeso, was accused of political violence and died in exile.
The scandal left Cincinnatus disgraced and heavily fined.
He sold most of his possessions and retreated to a modest farm across the Tiber River.
Rome faced destruction absolute destruction from in invading army in 458 BC.
The Roman Senate made a decision: The needed Cincinnatus.
They didn’t just summon a farmer from his plow—they called back a proven leader from self-imposed exile, a man whose honor and humility had stood the test of both triumph and tragedy.
He didn’t want the job...he didn’t campaign for it...but he answered the call.
Within just 16 days, Cincinnatus assembled an army, crushed the invading Aequi Army, and rescued a Roman legion that had been surrounded and left for dead.
History writes that he didn’t waste time with deliberation or speeches...He moved with clarity and purpose.
The victory was decisive.
Rome was saved.
In gratitude, the Roman Senate offered him Power. Influence. Wealth.
He had absolute control—something most men would cling to for a lifetime.
But Cincinnatus did something almost unthinkable: He laid down his sword.
He stepped away from power.
And he returned to the same fields he had left, where the soil waited and the plow sat idle.
He understood that life was not about holding on.
It was about showing up when it matters—and stepping back when the moment has passed.
I’ve been thinking a lot about the seasons of life lately.
This Saturday, I’ll be helping my son move into his college dorm.
It’s a day I’ve seen coming, it has been on the calendar for months...but is still is not fun.
For years, my 'real job' has been to lead, guide, teach and protect him.
Now the role changes.
Not gone—just evolving.
This is his time to step forward...it is the natural evolution of parenting...of life.
And like Cincinnatus, I feel the shift.
A quiet recognition that the plow waits, and my parenting work—though different—is far from done.
Each season has its call.
And real parenting might just be knowing when to lead… and when to let go.
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